


Devil's In The Details

by Morgan (morgan32)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, breaking the deal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-22
Updated: 2009-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-02 06:45:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morgan32/pseuds/Morgan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jo only learned about Dean's deal when his year was over. Following Dean's death, she forms an unexpected friendship with Sam, who is still determined to save his brother from Hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devil's In The Details

**Author's Note:**

> AU from canon, though it wasn't at the time of writing.

#### July 2008

The first time Jo saw Sam Winchester after _That Night_, Jo pulled a gun and threw half a bottle of water in his face. Holy water, naturally.

Well, Sam _was_ possessed by a demon the last time they ran into each other, _That Night_ in Duluth. She always thought of it that way, like it had capital letters in her head. _That Night_. Over a year later, Jo still sometimes woke in a cold sweat, with Sam's black-eyed face haunting her dreams. _"My daddy shot your daddy in the head."_ She was pretty sure he raped her when she was unconscious.

So when he showed up at the door of her new apartment, alone, the first thing Jo did was pull a gun. He was damned lucky she didn't pull the trigger.

Sam raised both of his hands at once, like he was in some trashy cop movie, and stepped back from the door. "Hey, Jo," he said, his voice carefully neutral.

Jo shifted to a two handed grip on her .32. "Sam," she said warily. She waited for him to tell her what he wanted. She would not ask. Looking into his eyes (she saw no demonic black, but he was avoiding her eyes), she wondered where Dean was. Dean's absence reinforced her feeling that this wasn't really Sam. Again.

"You gonna shoot me, or can I come in?"

Fuck it. "Stay there," Jo ordered and slammed the door in his face. She returned with a bottle of holy water. When she re-opened the door Sam was still there, still with his hands in the air. Without hesitation, Jo threw the water right into his face.

Sam flinched, and blinked water out of his eyes, but that was all. "Holy water?" he asked.

She stepped back from the door. "Come in, Sam," she said, in a voice that clearly indicated she wished he wouldn't.

He pushed his wet hair out of his eyes and wiped his face with one huge hand. He stepped carefully over her salt line and into the apartment. "I wouldn't blame you if you'd put a bullet in me," he muttered.

"I still might." Jo kept her hand near the gun in her belt as she faced him. "What do you want, Sam?" she asked bluntly.

She expected Sam to react to her hostility, but he only looked down at the ground. "Ellen told me where to find you. I...I wanted to tell you this myself. You shouldn't hear it on the hunters' grapevine."

"Hear what?" she demanded impatiently. She tossed back her long hair and stared up at him, determined not to be intimidated. She just wanted him gone. And she was gonna have words with her mom for telling him where she was.

"Dean," Sam said, and his voice broke a little on the word. "Dean's dead."

Jo felt her heart stutter. All of her anger with Sam vanished. She backed away until her legs hit the nearest chair, then sat down. She stared up at him. Sam didn't meet her eyes, but she could see the grief in him. She could see now that he was broken, just thin threads holding him together.

"When?" she whispered.

"A few weeks ago. Demon."

Sam volunteered no further details and Jo didn't ask. "I'm so sorry, Sam. Oh, God." She swallowed hard. "Are you...are you holding up okay?" She knew he wasn't.

Sam shook his head. "Not even close."

Jo sighed. She had some idea what this meant for Sam. He'd lost the girlfriend he was planning to marry, then his father and now his brother, too. She knew what it was like to lose family, but Sam had lost more than that. She couldn't imagine how awful he must be feeling. "Have a seat, Sam," she offered. "Can I get you a beer? Or whiskey?"

Sam waved the offer away. "No, that's - "

"Please," she interrupted. He looked terrible; she should have noticed sooner. Sam's dark hair, always too-long, hung lank around his cheeks. He hadn't shaved for several days. His shirt was creased and rumpled as if he'd slept in it.

Yet, when he finally looked at her, Sam's smile was real – a little forced, but real. "Okay. Beer. Thanks. Just don't ask me - "

"I wasn't planning to," she promised, and went to find some beer.

They started with beer and ended up sharing the last of Jo's whiskey, Sam drinking with the grim air of a man who is looking forward to the passing out part of the bender. Jo didn't actually invite him to spend the night, but he fell asleep on her couch while she cleared their glasses away. Jo watched him for a moment, then covered him with a blanket and left him there.

Jo slept with her gun under her pillow and a heavy chest full of knives dragged in front of her bedroom door. She dreamed of Dean.

***

In the morning, Jo found Sam curled up on her couch, still fully dressed and very much asleep. She didn't have to be at work until the afternoon, so she let him sleep while she washed, dressed and made coffee. She was just pouring her second mug of coffee when she heard Sam groan as he sat up and stretched. She poured coffee for him and carried the mug into the next room.

"I hope you don't mind black coffee. I'm all out of milk."

"Black's fine," Sam answered. He took the cup from her hands and sipped the coffee in silence.

Jo sat down on the arm of the couch. "Sam, can I ask you something?"

He looked up at her. "As long as it's not what happened. I can't, Jo."

"Why did you come all the way here to tell me? I mean, you could have called. Or even asked mom to give me the message."

Sam leaned back into the couch. "I didn't phone because I thought you'd hang up on  me. I came here because...I think it's what Dean would have wanted. I know he didn't show it too well, but he cared about you a lot, Jo. I...I don't know if the feeling was mutual, but I...I owed it to him, and you, to tell you myself."

Jo didn't know what to say to that. Was Sam saying that Dean loved her? It didn't seem possible.

"You didn't know, did you?" Sam asked astutely.

She shook her head. "Sam, he never even kissed me."

Sam set his coffee down. "If you knew Dean like I did... Jo, come down to the car with me. There's something I think you should see."

Jo frowned. "Well...okay. After breakfast. I've got toast or pancakes or scrambled eggs. Or all of the above."

Sam shrugged without enthusiasm, and she remembered it was always Dean who  loved to eat.

He stood in the kitchen doorway while she cooked and as he looked around Jo realised he was seeing her place properly for the first time. She'd deliberately chosen a bright, happy apartment: yellow walls and curtains in bright, primary colours. The place came part-furnished and she'd added her own touches, so the weapons chest was covered with a Native American rug and the medicine wheel on the wall just fit right in like a Christmas decoration. It couldn't be a bigger contrast to the Roadhouse.

Jo set a plate of egg and toast on the table for Sam. "Here. Eat."

"Are you still hunting?" Sam asked her, sitting down.

"Sure. I've got a job, too. Pays for my rent and wheels. My hours don't have to be regular so I can take time off when I find a case."

"I guess I didn't expect to find you in a place so..."

"Clean," she suggested archly, knowing that wasn't what he meant.

"You must get great tips."

Jo finished her eggs. "I'm not waitressing, Sam. I'm an instructor at the gun club." She shrugged. "I had to fake my credentials but I know guns. I'm good at the job."

"I'll bet you are."

"Are _you_ still hunting?" she asked tentatively.

Sam's face fell. "I haven't since Dean... I will, though. When I'm ready."

She thought about the case she was working on, and the old saying about getting back in the saddle. Though Sam hadn't said how Dean died, she guessed that Sam was blaming himself. But she didn't ask him to help her with her case. She didn't trust Sam enough for that.

Sam fell silent while he ate the breakfast Jo had made. He still had an appetite, Jo noticed, or perhaps he hadn't eaten for a while. Finally, he finished and pushed the plate away.

"Thanks, Jo. For...for everything."

She managed a smile. "You're welcome."

He looked into her eyes. "Jo, I never saw Dean with any girl the way he was with you. But we'd just lost our dad and Dean was carrying a lot of baggage from that. You took off before he'd really dealt with it."

"I saved his life in Duluth," Jo said flatly, "and he didn't even call me."

"I know," Sam answered. "Because we were getting closer to the demon and... You ready?"

Jo nodded.

It was a wrench to see the familiar Impala without Dean at the wheel. The car was so much a part of Dean. Seeing it brought home to Jo that she was never going to see Dean again. It hurt to think it.

Sam opened the trunk and moved some things around, looking for something. "Just before Dad died, the three of us ran into the yellow eyed demon. The one who killed our mom, and my Jess." Sam took out what looked like an old cigar box. "I asked why it killed them and he said they were in the way. No reason. They were just...just roadkill."

"Demons lie, Sam," Jo reminded him.

"Maybe. The thing is, Dean witnessed both of those fires." Sam rummaged through the box. "Seeing someone die like that...it stays with you, Jo. Dean liked to pretend it didn't, but I know him. Here..."

Jo took the photograph from Sam. She recognised John Winchester at once. He was a younger man in the photo, smiling at the camera. It was a carefree smile which looked odd to her on the face of a man she remembered as quite grim most of the time. The woman beside him was slim and pretty, with long, blonde hair styled very much like Jo's own hair.

"Your mom and dad?" she asked Sam.

"Yes."

"She looks like me," Jo said softly. She looked up at Sam, suddenly realising where he was going with this. "That's what you wanted me to see. Is this some Freudian thing?"

Sam managed a small, tight smile. "I'm just saying, if I noticed the resemblance, I'm sure Dean did, too. After we met the demon, after it killed Dad, he wouldn't let himself get close to you. I don't know, but I think he was scared of you ending up the same way."

Jo gazed at the photograph again. Sam's explanation didn't help. Had she loved Dean? Maybe not, but she'd badly wanted the chance to find out. If this was why she'd never gotten that chance...God, why hadn't he ever let her know? She handed the photograph back to Sam.

"Keep it if you want. I have others."

Jo wasn't sure why Sam made the offer. It wasn't as if John and his dead wife meant anything to her. They certainly meant a lot to Sam. But she nodded, slipping the photograph into her pocket. "Thanks."

He threw the box back into the trunk and closed slammed it closed. "I...I should go, I guess." He made an odd gesture toward her, then let his hand drop. "Uh, Jo, about Duluth..."

Jo tensed. "Don't. It wasn't you, Sam. You don't owe me anything."

"So, we're okay?"

"We're okay." On a sudden impulse, Jo gave him a hug. Sam stiffened in surprise and for an instant the closeness of his body reminded her of Duluth, of the way his strength defeated her so easily. Then Sam hugged her back and Jo felt okay again.

She drew away slowly. "Sam. If you need a friend, you know where I am. Alright?"

"Alright," he agreed.

When Sam climbed in behind the wheel, Jo felt her heart break. The familiar rumble of the Impala's engine reminded her forcefully of Dean. She had to blink tears out of her eyes. She cried as Sam drove away from her, cried for Dean and for all the signals she so badly misread.

***

#### August 2008

Jo woke with a start. She sat up in bed, confused for a moment, wondering what had wakened her. Then the sound came again. Someone was banging on her door. She thought she heard a voice, too. She glanced at her alarm clock. The glowing red figures declared it was 2.46am. Who the Hell...?

Jo slipped a shirt on over the t-shirt she slept in, picked up her gun and padded, barefoot, to the front door. She checked her salt line was intact before she touched the door. The pounding on her door never stopped.

She opened the door a crack, the gun ready in her hand. Sam stood there, one hand clutching his side, the other raised to knock. He was soaking wet, pale and shaking. Jo opened the door wide at once. Sam stumbled in without a word and she saw blood on the hand holding his side.

"You're hurt!" she said unnecessarily. Jo moved to his side, offering her shoulder to support him.

"Yeah. Sorry, Jo. I couldn't go to a hospital and you were the closest - "

"Bathroom," Jo cut across his apology firmly, guiding him that way. She got him to sit on the toilet seat while she helped him take off the wet sweater and shirt. Then she saw the wound.

A dark, pink and purple bruise covered most of Sam's left side. Within it were several large puncture wounds, still bleeding. From the way they were spaced, Jo thought it looked like a bite, but if so it was a bite from something huge. If she'd been in a joking mood, she would have asked where he found a T-rex to hunt.

"Holy shit, Sam. What did this?"

"Hellhound," he grunted.

She grabbed her emergency first aid kit from beneath the sink. _Iodine...is he going to need stitches? God, look at that bruise. He might have cracked his ribs. He should get an x-ray. But a hellhound? Daddy told me no one ever escapes a hellhound._ "Are you sure?" Jo asked nervously, suddenly remembering it was full moon, for all the storm clouds were hiding it tonight.

"It's not a werewolf bite," Sam said, as if he'd read her mind.

Jo relaxed, but bit her lip as she looked up at him again. "Sam, this is bad. The punctures look deep and there's muscle damage. Maybe broken ribs. I don't know."

"Can you deal with it?"

She remembered Dean calling her a butcher when she tried to dig a bullet out of his shoulder. "I don't know. I mean, I can do it, but..."

"Just do what you can, honey. Please."

The _please_ stopped Jo from arguing further although she felt far from confident. "I'll get you some whiskey. It'll help dull the pain."

It took more than whiskey. Jo had never stitched a wound before, only watched Ellen do it. She did the best she could, while Sam screamed around the leather belt she'd given him to bite on. She used iodine to clean the wounds first and bandaged his ribs just in case they were broken. She had no idea how to check for that. Finally, she put Sam to bed on her couch. She considered offering him the bed, but she was selfish enough to want to sleep there herself. Besides, she still preferred to have a locked door between them when she slept. So she gave him pillows and a comforter, and left him to sleep, if he could.

***

Sam stayed for six nights. On the seventh day, Jo came home after work to find a note pinned to her refrigerator:

_Dear Jo,_

_A friend called with urgent news so I've got to go. Sorry to run out on you like this. Thanks again for your help._

_Be safe. Sam W._

Three days later, when she hadn't heard from him, Jo phoned Sam. She told him he must either come back so she could remove the stitches or find someone else who could do it for him. The next day, Sam was at her door again.

Jo was busy with her latest case of supernatural murders and had papers strewn across the kitchen table when Sam showed up. She let him sit there while she yanked the stitches and knew he would notice her work. Maybe she wanted him to notice. She'd been sifting through obits from 1937 trying to figure out the identity of the ghost gutting people with a scythe two counties away. When Sam asked, she explained what she'd found and he helped her narrow down the possibilities. The next night, they drove out there together to dig up a grave.

Jo was glad of his help. Turned out she needed someone to watch her back when the scythe-wielding ghost showed up halfway through the excavation of his remains.

After that, Sam sort of moved into Jo's apartment. He started keeping his clothing at her place, and a bunch of ancient books. He would leave and drive across the country for a hunt, then return and stay for a while. When he was home, he spent long hours on the internet or in the local library. Jo knew he was searching for something, a search that seemed to grow more desperate every day, but she never asked and Sam didn't volunteer anything.

***

#### October 2008

One night, as summer faded into fall, while Jo curled up on one end of the couch and Sam sprawled at the other, Sam finally told Jo how Dean died, and why he died.

Dean died to save Sam. Dean sold his soul to save Sam's life.

"Dean's in Hell?" Jo whispered.

Sam nodded slowly.

"Oh, God." Jo drew her legs up to her chest and picked up a cushion, hugging it close to her. "Oh, God." She blinked away tears. "That's it, isn't it? You're looking for some way to...to save his soul. Oh, Sam."

Jo expected Sam to nod again, but his expression hardened. "I already know a way, Jo. I'm looking for...something better. Answers, maybe. Plan A sucks." He met her eyes and she could see his anguish. "Every day I fail, every day I wait, is another day Dean's in Hell because of me."

Jo sat up straight. "What's plan A?"

"I can't tell you. You'd stop me. Or," he met her eyes determinedly, "you'd try."

Jo heard the threat in his tone. She would have no chance of stopping him, but why would she want to? Why would she stand in the way of him saving his brother from Hell? His plan must be risky, but it was his risk to take, surely. She knew how deeply he loved Dean. _Dean's in Hell because of me._

Sam refused to tell her his plan, but years of serving Wild Turkey to drunken hunters had taught Jo a thing or two. She knew Sam wouldn't have mentioned it to her if some part of him didn't need to talk about it. _Plan A sucks_, he'd said. It was a cry for help. Maybe he _wanted_ someone to stop him.

Jo poured Sam another drink. "How can I help, then?"

Sam ran both hands through his hair. "I don't think you can, Jo. I don't mean any offence, but you don't know more about this stuff than I do."

Jo _did_ take offence at that. "You arrogant...shit. Typical Winchester, always flying solo. Maybe I don't know _more_ than you, but I might know some things you don't. I definitely know _people_ you don't. Let me help."

"I spent most of a year trying to find a way to break the deal Dean made," Sam told her. "I couldn't do it. The demon had it tied down tight. No loopholes. If Dean found a way to escape, I would die. And, while I'd willingly give my life for Dean..."

"He wouldn't let you," Jo finished for him.

Sam's unhappy expression was answer enough. "Right at the end of the year, I realised there _was_ one loophole. Not a good one. But something. Dean offered his soul, but he didn't offer eternity. So if he...as long as he kept his end of the deal, there was nothing to stop me breaking it _after_." He smiled, but the smile was bitter. "The devil's in the details. For me to save him, Dean had to go to Hell." Sam sighed heavily and reached for the old grimoire he had been reading. He offered it to Jo. "You want to help? How's your Latin?"

***

#### Christmas 2008

For three months, they worked together. Jo brushed up on her Latin and Greek and started to learn Arabic. She made notes from new books and websites and books she suspected might predate the Great Flood. When either of them found anything that even hinted at a possible plan, they would talk it over for hours or days. Sam called every contact he could find in John's journal; Jo contacted everyone she knew from the Roadhouse. Slowly, they made progress.

Right before Christmas, they took a road trip together to New Orleans to talk with a hoodoo practitioner Sam had found, then on to Nevada where Jo located a magician who knew her father. They started out hopeful that at least one of them would be able to help, but the trip was pretty much a bust.

The drive home took them most of Christmas Eve. Sam played Dean's tapes in the car and wouldn't let Jo drive. Jo, wisely, kept her thoughts on that to herself.

It was very late when they finally stumbled into Jo's apartment. Neither of them spoke as they began the usual night routine: Sam got his pillows and comforter out of the chest in Jo's bedroom while she checked her salt lines and other protections, all through the apartment. When she was done, Jo watched Sam making up his bed on the couch. He never complained about the sleeping arrangements, even though he was much too tall to be comfortable sleeping there.

A change was overdue, Jo decided.

"Sam," she said quietly, "you don't need to do that."

Sam straightened and turned to her. "Do what?" he asked, a puzzled frown creasing his forehead.

"My bed is big enough for two," Jo said.

Sam still looked confused. He moved toward her hesitantly. "Jo, do you mean...?"

She smiled, understanding. She hadn't meant to offer sex but if Sam wanted her, Jo realised she wouldn't be likely to turn him down. She felt the last tensions of their encounter in Duluth melt away. "I think," she said with a grin, "we're both too tired tonight. But..." she moved toward him, "I could really use a hug."

Sam opened his arms to her and she fell into his embrace. It felt good to be held. Sam's body was warm, his strength comforting. She felt him kiss her hair lightly.

"I'm not Dean," Sam said softly as they drew apart.

"Neither am I," Jo reminded him.

That night, Jo fell asleep in Sam's arms and felt like she belonged there.

On Christmas morning, he left her again.

***

#### March 2009

Sam never again spent a night on Jo's couch.

It was natural to move from sharing a bed to the kind of sleeping together that doesn't always involve sleep.

The first time they had sex, Jo woke to find Sam stroking her hair. She smiled sleepily and kissed him. She'd been kissing him as a 'good morning' ever since Christmas. Sam kissed her back hungrily and moments later he was thrusting inside her like he was starving for this. And maybe he was, because it was over too fast. Sam made up for it, though, bringing her to an earth-shattering climax with tongue and fingers.

After, he held her close and Jo couldn't imagine why she'd ever been afraid of him. But she was glad the local pharmacy stocked Plan B.

***

#### May 2009

On the anniversary of Dean's death, Jo and Sam had their first major fight. It ended when Sam hit her and stormed out of the apartment without even waiting to see if she was hurt.

The next day, though, he was back. He apologised even before he saw the purple bruise on her cheekbone. Jo forgave him. The violence was so unlike Sam and she understood what the anniversary meant to him. She knew he was becoming increasingly desperate. She knew it wasn't really her he'd seen when he threw the punch.

She still kept him outside the apartment while they talked. "You're not the only one who's lost family, Sam," she reminded him.

Sam nodded. "You lost your dad, too, I know. And your brother. But it's different. I'm not making excuses, Jo, there's no excuse for what I did, but - "

"But," she cut in, "you think I can't understand how you feel. Do you think I wouldn't bring my daddy back if I could? Ash was a pain in my ass, but there are days I'd sell my own soul to see him again. It's different for you, sure. But I do get it. I do."

Sam nodded. "Can I come in? Or do you want to throw holy water at me again?" he tried for a grin with the words, but didn't quite pull it off.

Jo opened the door. "Next time you hit me, I'm gonna put a bullet in you. I ain't kidding."

"There won't be a next time. I'm really sorry, Jo." He reached out to push her hair back from her cheek. "Oh, God. I don't even know what I was thinking. I'm not...I mean..."

"Sam, it's okay. I know you didn't mean it, or you'd be bleeding right now. I'm not the forgiving type."

***

Sam unfolded the map and spread it out over the kitchen table. "I think you should know it was Ash who found this. I'm pretty sure it's what got him killed."

Jo crossed her arms over her chest, speechless. Why had he waited until now to tell her this?

The horrible day Jo found the shattered remains of the Roadhouse flashed into her mind. She'd never told Sam about finding her burned-out home a few days after the fire. She thought she'd been the first to find it, because the bodies still lay amongst the wreckage, and they'd been there long enough to attract the flies and the rats. Long enough for the smell of decay to be worse than the smell of burned wood and tar. Jo had searched through unrecognisable bodies for some sign of her mom or her brother. She found Ash. Couldn't identify Ellen, but was sure she must be there, too badly burned for even her own daughter to know her. Jo was there for days, digging graves by day and spending the nights in the back seat of her little car, too scared to sleep, until finally Ellen and Bobby found her. But she'd never told Sam about that time.

And this, finally, was the reason. Jo hugged herself tightly as she leaned over the map. It showed Wyoming, with a large pentacle drawn across the south of the state.

"There's a door to Hell right here," Sam tapped the map in the centre of the pentacle. "It's locked up tight. These..." he traced the lines of the pentacle, "are railroads connecting churches at each point."

"Railroads?" Jo understood at once. "It's a giant devil's trap."

Sam gave her an approving smile. "Exactly. The doorway was sealed up inside, but the protection was breached two years ago when the devil's gate opened. A lot of demons got out. You know about that, right? Ellen was there with us."

Jo nodded. "Mom told me about that night. I always knew she was leaving stuff out. I guess now I know what."

Sam touched her shoulder gently and she leaned her cheek against his hand. "Okay. So there's a door to Hell. What is it you plan to do?"

"The door is locked, Jo, but I've got the key. The problem is, when I open it, there's nothing to hold back whatever comes out. Nearly two hundred demons escaped last time."

Jo stared at him, afraid she understood his plan. "No. Sam, you're talking about unleashing Hell on earth! You don't even know if Dean would be able to escape!"

Sam shook his head, and the expression on his face made Jo even more frightened. "You don't understand, Jo. If I open the door and Dean's spirit finds the way out, he'll still be dead. I don't want to just save his soul. I'm going to bring him back alive."

"How?" Jo asked, her voice only a whisper.

Sam met her eyes. "If I'm...if Azazel told me the truth about what I am, I can do it."

There was only one thing he could mean. Jo shook her head in denial. "No. Oh, God, Sam, no. You can't."

"I _can't_ let Dean spend eternity in Hell, Jo! God! It's been a year already." Sam turned away from her, gazing out of the window. Dean's car was parked in the street below. "I just need a way..."

"A way to open the door without unleashing Armageddon," Jo finished for him. It sounded impossible.

Sam, still not looking at her, simply nodded.

Jo swallowed past the lump in her throat. She was shaking and cold, though it was a warm day. But her voice was steady when she answered him. "Okay then. Let's figure out how it's done."

***

#### August 2009

Campfire flames illuminated Sam's face as he leaned over the fire, holding a burger spitted on a stick. Fat from the burger made the flames spark and spit as it cooked.

"I don't think I've been camping like this since...since I was fifteen," Sam commented. He took his burger out of the flames, looked at it critically and then took an experimental bite. "Ow! Hot!"

Jo giggled. Her own burger was safely in a bread bun, balanced on her knee. "You and your motel lifestyle. You're soft, Sam Winchester." She tore open a sachet of relish with her teeth and squeezed it over her burger.

They were camped beside the railroad tracks built by Samuel Colt to protect the devil's gate. They knew the tracks were broken somewhere, and they were searching for the place, or places, that needed repair. This was the second week of their search. It was a long job, tracing every inch of the iron tracks and the only way to do it was the old-fashioned way: on foot.

"So," Jo asked, taking a bite of her burger, "where did you camp when you were fifteen?"

Sam blew on his burger to cool it down. "Somewhere in the Rockies. It might have been Colorado. Dad was looking into some weird deaths in the hills. I think it turned out to be a skinwalker." He took a bite of burger and was silent for a moment while he chewed. "I hated it, you know. Camping in the mountains. Bow hunting. All the crap Dad put us through. I just wanted to play football."

"I would have given anything for the kind of training you had," Jo told him seriously.

Sam nodded. "Maybe you wouldn't, if you didn't get a choice."

"Maybe," she agreed. She finished her burger and shuffled around the camp fire to Sam's side. "We've covered more than half of the tracks. I think there might be only one place to find."

"We need to find it soon, Jo. I can't wait much longer."

Jo cuddled up to his side. She understood his impatience, but finding the place where the devil's trap was broken was only the first step. There was a lot more they needed to do before they could put Sam's plan into practice. She was beginning to worry that he wouldn't wait, that he'd do something desperate.

Sam still had not explained his full plan to Jo, but she wasn't Bill Harvelle's daughter for nothing. She had a good idea what Sam was going to attempt. She didn't believe he could survive it.

When Sam kissed her, Jo wanted him as she never had before. She needed his kiss, his touch, as much of him as she could take. She held his face between her hands as they kissed, his unshaven cheeks scratchy against her palms, and knew for the first time that she loved him.

Jo kissed him like it was the last time. Sensing her urgency, Sam tugged her shirt out of her jeans, his hands sliding over her bare skin. She pulled the t-shirt over his head and dragged him down onto the hard ground. She didn't want slow or gentle. Sam pinned her down with one hand in her hair and bit her lower lip just hard enough to hurt. Jo moaned into his mouth and started on his belt.

They came together in a rush of hands and lips and flesh, clothing torn away and discarded, forgotten. They burned together, naked and sweaty in the summer night, under the stars.

Sam collapsed on top of her finally, one of his hands still hopelessly tangled in her hair.

"I love you," Jo whispered into the night. She never knew if he heard her.

***

#### October 2009

As soon as she got home, Jo stripped off her shirt and bra and stood there, topless, in front of Sam. "Ta-da! What do you think?"

Sam stared, but not, for once, at Jo's breasts. "Nice tat. But, Jo..."

The 'but' was beginning to irritate her. They'd talked about this. They agreed. "No more arguing," Jo said firmly. "It'll work. And I'm not letting you do this alone."

He stared at the black and scarlet tattoo a while longer. "Alright," Sam said finally. "How long until it heals?"

Jo relaxed. He was going to let her do it. "Two weeks," she answered. She pulled the shirt back on, covering the magical seal now tattooed into her skin. If she lived through this, she would never again be able to wear a bikini on the beach. If she lived through this, it would be worth it.

"Sam, we need to talk."

Sam was staring over her shoulder. Jo turned, and saw the calendar on her wall.

"Two weeks," Sam said, his voice faraway. "It fits."

Jo glanced at the calendar. "Halloween," she said. "But, Sam..."

Sam cut across her. "No, not Halloween. November second. That's the day. Of course that's the day." There was something dark in his voice.

"Sam," Jo tried for a third time.

Sam turned back to face her. "It's alright if you're having second thoughts. Although, before the tattoo would have been better timing."

"I'm doing this," she promised. "But, Sam, I think we need help."

"No." Sam moved closer to her and started to button up the shirt for her. "Jo, no one will go along with this. Bobby's the closest thing I have to family and if _he_ knew what we're planning he'd shoot me like a mad dog."

Jo thought he was probably right, but she said, "I don't really know Bobby that well. But I do know what we're doing. Sam, we can lay down every grain of salt in Wyoming and it won't be enough."

"We repaired the devil's trap. It's the best we can do."

"No, the _best_ we can do is not open the fucking gate! But we know that's not an option. Sam, the gate opening _has_ to be what broke the devil's trap in the first place. It has to be because that's when your yellow-eyed friend showed up. So it doesn't mean jack that we fixed it. I think I've figured out what to do, but we can't do it alone."

Sam finished buttoning her shirt. "I get your point, but there is no one else, Jo." He cupped her cheek with one hand.

Jo reached up to him, wondering why he'd bothered to button the shirt if she was about to take it off again. "Do you still think I don't understand how important this is to you? I'm busting my ass to help you get Dean back. I think...maybe...I know someone who will help us."

"No hunters," Sam said firmly.

"Marty Egan. He's not a hunter but he knows the score."

"I've never heard of him."

Jo shrugged. "No reason you should have. He's one of Ash's - uh - friends."

Sam flashed a sudden grin. "What word did you just not say?"

Jo smiled back. Sam was too sharp. "Well," she said, a little embarrassed, "you know Ash. He was a bit...on the kooky side. He had a group of friends from his MIT days; he called them 'the posse'. And most of them are even weirder than Ash."

"And this is who you think we can trust to hold back the gates of Hell. Literally."

"I know how it sounds, but Marty's solid. He helped me on a hunt before. It's better than going in without backup, isn't it?"

Sam still looked uncertain. "Okay. Call him."

Jo headed for the laptop. "Oh, no. Marty, we find online."

***

Sam leaned over Jo's shoulder as she typed. "_Gunchick_? You're kidding me."

Jo turned her head and kissed his cheek quickly. "Give me a break. I picked the handle when I was fifteen." She was logging into IRC as she spoke. Sam made no comment on the channel name, and Jo was grateful. "Let's hope Marty hasn't changed his taste in porn."

She typed.
    
    
    #ping bigbluetiger
    
    
    @Hey little chick long time
    
    
    #been away R U up for an adventure?
    
    
    @good bad or ugly?
    
    
    #U will piss your pants baby
    
    
    @when?

Sam whispered against Jo's ear. "Don't tell him too much."
    
    
    @and where?
    
    
    #explain when I C U. 2 weeks?

Sam said, "Don't give him this address. Um...Red Cat Motel outside of Rock Springs. He can meet us there on the first."

Jo frowned. "Why not here?"

"Just trust me."
    
    
    @r u there chica?
    
    
    #Yeah. Sorry. 1 Nov red cat motel its near rock springz thanx
    
    
    @anytime chica I O U
    
    
    #hey bring martha & i'll be real grateful
    
    
    @LOL promise TTFN
    
    
    #TTFN

Jo disconnected with a smug grin. "Gotcha."

"Who's Martha?" Sam asked.

The worry in his voice made Jo grin. "Not who. What. I won't spoil the surprise."

Sam grabbed the back of her chair and spun her around to face him. He was smiling. "Hey. I just watched my girl flirting with another guy on a porn channel. Now she's keeping secrets from me?"

***

#### Midnight, 2nd November 2009

Sam parked the Impala at the edge of the field. He walked around to the trunk and hauled out the bags Jo had prepared. Jo reached for the largest bottle of holy water.

Marty stopped when he saw the Impala's open trunk. "Whoa! Man, that's cool." Marty was African-American, taller than Jo but dwarfed by Sam. He wore his hair in long dreadlocks and had dress sense that belonged in the 1980's. Jo knew that the personality he projected was mostly a put-on. Like Ash, Marty was a genius; unlike Ash, he was solid and reliable when he chose to be. Ash was reliable only until he got bored.

Marty opened up the sports bag he carried and extracted a complicated mess of brightly coloured plastic.

Jo grinned when she saw it. It brought back some memories she wasn't planning to share with Sam.

Sam stared. "What's that?"

"Martha," Jo and Marty answered together.

Jo explained. "It's a water pistol with a backpack tank. Marty and Ash were in the same LARP league."

"LARP?" Sam repeated. He sounded genuinely confused.

Jo turned to him in surprise. "Dude, what did you do at college? Study?"

Sam gave her a look. "Well, yeah. What did _you_ do?"

Jo shrugged. "LARP. Live action role play. It's like Dungeons and Dragons, only with water guns instead of dice." Jo lifted the holy water and started to fill Marty's tank.

"Not bad, Jo," Sam approved.

Marty moved to hand Jo the water gun, but she waved it away. "No, Marty, that's for you. Come on. The tracks are this way."

Back in August, when they found the place where the railroad tracks had blasted open, Sam repaired the devil's trap by clamping new iron poles to the broken ends of the tracks. It restored the lines of iron. It would be useless for a train, but trains were not the point.

Now, with Jo and Marty holding flashlights in the fading light, Sam opened the clamps, deliberately breaking the devil's trap once again.

"You wait here," Jo explained to Marty, though they'd already been over the plan several times. "It's about a fifteen mile walk to the cemetery so it'll take me and Sam a couple of hours."

"And I just close the clamps, right?" Marty said, looking down at the tracks where Sam knelt.

"Not right away." Sam looked up. "If this goes down the way we expect, when the gate opens there'll be a...it's like a pulse of energy, or demonic power. It's what broke these tracks apart two years ago, so..."

"So, powerful," Marty said, and there was no trace of his usual grin. He traced the warped iron of the broken track with his flashlight. "Level with me, dude."

Sam met his eyes seriously. "My brother and I were at ground zero and we both walked away. I don't think you'll be in physical danger. Just the other kind."

"Thanks."

"Don't thank me. The other kind is plenty." He stood up. "This is where the tracks are broken so I'm pretty sure that this time, the energy will get channelled this way. Like water, it'll go for the place where there's a leak. That's when you close the clamps. As fast as you can."

Jo added, "Soak your clothing with that holy water and keep yourself wet. It should discourage...you know. Once the clamps are closed stay on this side of the tracks no matter what. And when you see us, you've got to test us with the holy water, too."

Marty nodded. "I've got it, chica. You gonna be okay?"

She smiled nervously. "I've got Sam watching my back." She reached for Sam's hand, feigning a confidence she didn't feel.

"See you on the other side," Marty said.

Jo and Sam walked into the woods together.

***

"It's not too late to turn back, honey," Sam told her after they had been walking for a while.

Jo adjusted the weight of the bag slung over her shoulder. "I will if you will."

Sam snorted.

Jo shrugged. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

"I _have_ to do this, Jo. You don't. This is going to be dangerous for you."

They were about to corral hundreds of demons in one place, with Jo the only human body within reach. _Dangerous_ didn't even come close. This was a conversation they'd had many times, and it usually went exactly the same way. This time, Jo decided, it could be different. She had a secret, something she hadn't dared to tell Sam before this night. It was time for him to know.

She answered, as she had several times before, "Last time none of you here were possessed. The demons went as far away as they could."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, but this time we're boxing them in."

"Which is why I got the tattoo. They can strip the skin from my bones, but they can't get inside me."

"Jo, that's not comforting."

She could see the cemetery ahead of them and stopped walking, letting the bag fall from her shoulder. She wanted to finish this before they reached that place. "Sam, I'm not scared for me. I'm scared for _you_. What if you can't do this?"

"I'm not giving up until I bring Dean back," Sam said fiercely.

Jo grabbed his arm. "Sam, listen. There's something I've got to say."

"It can wait, Jo." He tried to shake her off.

"No! It can't. Sam, I need you to promise me you're coming back. No matter what."

Sam gazed toward the cemetery. "That's the plan," he said firmly, but Jo saw it in his eyes, the burden he'd carried ever since Dean died. He was determined to come back with Dean or not at all.

Jo ran her hand down his arm to hold his hand. "I know how hard this year has been. But I need to know you're coming back." She moved his hand to her body, pressing his palm against her abdomen, below the belt of her jeans. "_We_ need you to come back," she said.

She felt Sam's hand jerk and his eyes widened. "Jo," he whispered, and she knew he understood. "Jo, you're...?"

She nodded. "About eleven weeks." She tried to smile. "I couldn't tell you. You'd have made me stay behind."

Sam's eyes narrowed. "Damn right. Jo, you can't be here. Not now. You know..."

"I _know_," she interrupted, "that I'm not leaving. We started this together. We've got to finish it together. Now promise me, promise me, Sam."

Sam turned his hand so his fingers entwined with hers. "You're having a baby. My baby." He said it as if it was the most amazing thing he'd ever heard. Sam kissed her, slow and deep. He let his bag fall and held her tight against his body. Jo responded with all she had, drawing his tongue into her mouth. Heat rose between them. Jo put everything she felt into that kiss, telling him without words that she loved him. It might be the last time they ever kissed.

Jo could feel Sam's reluctance when he drew away from her. "I promise," Sam said. "I'll come back to you."

"Thank you," she whispered back. The promise was enough. Jo took a deep breath, collecting herself. "Okay!" she called with false brightness. "Let's get this done."

***

Jo completed the seventh salt circle and glanced back over her shoulder to Sam. The circles weren't exactly circular but they were complete, which was all that really mattered. Seven concentric circles of salt around the mausoleum which housed the gateway to Hell.  Jo reached into her bag for her sawed-off. If she actually needed a gun tonight, it would probably mean she had no chance, but Jo was going to use every weapon within her reach.

Sam was standing before the mausoleum with the Colt in his hand. Moonlight fell upon him, silvering his skin. Jo had a sudden flash of disquiet. This was Azazel's plan. It was what Sam had been meant to do all along. Azazel was dead, but were they wrong to be here? Was Sam doing the demon's work, even now? Slowly, Jo walked toward him, stepping carefully over the concentric circles of salt. There was no turning back now.

Sam faced her as she reached his side and Jo saw some of her own worries mirrored in his expression. Jo met his eyes, no longer smiling. They were ready.

Or, perhaps, not quite ready.

Sam took her hand in his and pressed the ancient gun into her palm. "When Azazel possessed my dad, Dad begged me to shoot him with this. To kill them both. I couldn't do it."

Jo opened her mouth to speak, but Sam covered her lips with the fingertips of his free hand.

"I thought he was crazy, but I understand now. I understand him so well. Jo, baby, listen to me. When I go through the gate, I want you to grab the Colt. It's fully loaded. Five bullets."

Jo shook her head. "No! Sam, you're supposed to take the Colt! How are you gonna get out without it?"

"You'll let me out," Sam answered calmly. "Give me one hour and open the gate, just a crack. It will be enough."

"Sam, an hour isn't long enough to..."

"Yes, it is. It will be longer for me. I don't know how I know, I just do. I'm certain." Sam's expression was very serious. "Jo, you need to be prepared for the possibility that what comes back won't be me. You need to be prepared to use the Colt."

_For the sake of our baby._ Jo caught her breath. Sam didn't say the words, but they hung in the air between them.

Jo met his eyes and asked the question she had to ask, dreading the answer. "What are you, Sam? What did Azazel tell you?"

Sam hesitated, but only for a moment. "I'm his son, Jo. He's my father as much as John Winchester was. Do you understand what that means?"

"No." Jo shook her head in denial. "That's not even possible, Sam. He was lying!"

"It's the truth. This isn't biology or science, Jo. It's demonic power. I know it's true because he never told me directly. I put it together from what he said, and things he showed me. I hate it, but it's real, and going through that gate could make it even more real. Now tell me you'll take the Colt. Tell me you'll use it if you have to."

Jo understood what Sam feared; that walking through Hell could burn away his humanity until all that was left was his demonic spirit. She didn't know if it were possible. Could he really be part demon? Could Jo kill Sam, if she had to? It wouldn't _be_ Sam. That was the point.

Jo nodded uncertainly. "I can do it."

She saw and felt the tension flow out of his body. "Good. Good girl." He bent to kiss her, a gentle and lingering touch of his lips. "I love you, Jo. Whatever happens."

He had never said it before. She knew he loved her, of course she knew, but he'd never said the words. Jo tried to answer, but couldn't speak past the emotion filling her. The words just wouldn't come.

Sam lifted the Colt, resolve hardening his face. "It's time."

***

The details were lost in a blur of terror, noise and flame. After, Jo never clearly recalled it all. They were caught out, after all their careful planning, by the one thing they failed to anticipate.

Sam unlocked the devil's gate and what burst out of there was not energy or demonic black smoke. It was flame. Jo was blasted off her feet by the explosion. She flew across the cemetery and landed on hard stone. When she came to her senses, Sam was gone and the gateway to Hell stood wide open, its flames roaring skyward.

Jo had a moment to think, through her terror, _Someone new is in charge there now_. Then she was running, pushing her way through treacle-thick air that scalded her skin, breathing in toxic fumes with every step. She heard herself screaming as she reached the door. She shoved it with all her strength and she screamed and screamed forever. She was burning, dying and still she shoved against the unmoving stone.

And it closed with a dull clang.

Even as the seal spun back into place, cogs and gears whirring, Jo grabbed the Colt and fell, shaking to the ground. Her throat was raw from screaming and she could taste blood in her mouth. There was pain, too much pain, in too many places. She wanted to scream some more.

There was silence, utter silence all around her. So much so, Jo thought perhaps she was deaf. Then she realised she could hear her own breathing, harsh and rapid. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. She was alive. At least she was alive. Jo lay back in the burned grass, surrounded by salt, savouring the knowledge that she lived. She thought of the tiny life inside her, but had no way of knowing if her baby might have been hurt. She offered up a prayer for all of them.

There was rain. Softly falling rain, cooling her skin, as if in answer to her prayer. It was soothing, but frightening, too. Too much rain might wash away the salt which protected her.

It was a long time before Jo thought to look at her watch. She had to brush soot off the watch face before she could see the time. When she could read it, she couldn't remember what time they'd begun.

Okay. Okay, Jo. Calm down. Just guess.

She estimated half an hour had passed, while a small voice in the back of her mind taunted her, saying it might have been hours and she wouldn't know. Half an hour. Thirty minutes. That meant thirty minutes more before she should re-open the gateway. Yeah, that was easy.

Jo sat down on the ground and felt pain shoot across her shoulder and chest. She tried to ignore it. She looked at her watch again. Twenty nine minutes.

***

_Give me one hour, and open the gate just a crack_. Jo didn't know how to do that. Sam hadn't explained.

She approached the gate, holding tightly to the Colt. The closed door towered above her, the seal with its complex pattern silent and cold. She touched the seal, tracing the contours with her fingers. If only she could be sure Sam was waiting on the other side.

Jo checked her watch again. Time up. She had to decide. She looked down at the Colt in her hand. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, its inscription standing out in sharp relief. _Non timebo mala._ I will fear no evil. It seemed to Jo that it was a message, a reassurance. Fear no evil. It was about faith. Faith and trust. Sam would be there. She trusted him.

Jo slid the Colt into the centre of the seal.

Cogs and wheels shifted. The seal opened again.

Jo's world disappeared.

***

#### 3rd November 2009

Jo woke in the back seat of the Impala, and she wasn't alone. The car was moving and the engine noise was all she could hear. Jo opened her eyes. She was leaning against the door with a blanket tucked around her. She lifted her head away from the window. Sam was driving the Impala. He was watching the dark road, apparently unaware that Jo was awake. For a second, she was just happy to see him. Then, remembering his warning, she looked around for the Colt or for any weapon. There was nothing but the blanket covering her, and the body at her side.

Body? Jo looked at the person sharing the back seat with her and her heart leapt. _Oh, my God. He did it. He really did!_ Dean was unconscious, a blanket covering most of his body just like Jo, so all she could see was his face. He was alive. Dean looked exactly as she remembered him. Whatever Hell he had been through, it left no trace on his sleeping features. That seemed...wrong.

_God, if you're listening, please let this be okay. Let it be my Sam._

"Sam?" She tried to speak and found her voice hoarse.

Sam's head turned so fast he must have given himself whiplash. "Jo? Are you okay, honey?"

"I think so. What happened?"

Sam pulled over to the side of the road and stopped the car. He leapt out and was opening Jo's door before her brain caught up. She was still leaning against the door when it opened and she half-tumbled out. Sam caught her and helped her to her feet before he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

It hurt like Hell, and Jo squirmed in his arms. Sam let her go quickly, but he couldn't stop touching her. He kissed the top of her head, whispering words she couldn't quite hear against her hair.

Jo pushed him away. She hadn't intended to, but being touched hurt so badly. "Sam, it's okay."

"I thought you were dead," Sam said helplessly. "When I came through, with Dean, you were on the ground and...oh, God, Jo. I thought..."

She looked up at him. "It's okay. I'm okay. I just hurt."

"When we started...when _I_ started this, I thought there was nothing I wouldn't do to break Dean's deal. No price was too high to get him back. I was wrong, Jo. When I saw you lying there...that was too high."

Jo smiled through the pain in her shoulder. She understood, but she couldn't let him think that way. "No, Sam. This was my choice. I wanted to help. But I'm real glad I'm not dead." She reached up to him with her left hand, as that hurt least. "Sam. You did it. You found him." Why didn't he seem happy?

Sam nodded. "I...I'm not sure, Jo. I don't know how much of Dean I brought back."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll explain at home. We're only an hour away, I think." Sam closed the rear door of the Impala. "You ready?" he asked, gesturing at the front.

Jo hesitated. "What happened to Marty?"

"I left him at the motel. He gave me a message for you. Said next time you should warn him if you mean piss your pants literally. But he's in one piece."

Only partly reassured, Jo climbed into the front seat, sliding across from the driver's side to ride shotgun. Sam jumped in beside her and started the engine again.

***

Dean didn't wake, not even when Sam carried him up the stairs to the apartment. He was alive and physically whole. It was more than Jo had truly expected, though she'd told herself over and over that if anyone could storm the gates of Hell and come out intact, these Winchesters could.

By unspoken agreement, they gave the bedroom over to the unconscious Dean. Sam laid him gently in the bed, covered him with the comforter, and turned to Jo. He looked exhausted.

Silently, Jo reached for Sam's hand and led him into the next room. She knew he wanted to keep vigil with his brother and after everything they'd both been through to find Dean, she understood. She wouldn't stop him if he resisted, but Sam needed rest. Sam allowed her lead him to the couch. They sat down together and Jo curled up against his side. In moments, she was asleep.

She woke as Sam laid her down, carefully, on the couch. He didn't notice her waking. Jo heard him move into the bedroom. After a moment, she rose stiffly from the couch and followed him.

"How is he?" she asked quietly from the doorway.

Sam was sitting beside the bed. He answered without taking his eyes off Dean. "The same."

"I...um...I'm going to get cleaned up. Do you need anything?"

"No. We're fine."

Jo left him alone with his brother.

She looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and barely even recognised her own face. It looked as if most of her hair was gone. One of her eyes was swollen almost shut, the skin around it red raw. The rest of her face was smudged with dirt and soot. Jo had enough vanity to wonder if the scars would be permanent, to mourn her ruined hair. Her hands felt stiff and painful as she eased her shirt off. When it fell to the ground, she saw why her shoulder and chest were so painful.

The tattooed skin was fine but all around the design her chest was swollen and red. It was as if the tattoo itself had burned. Maybe that was exactly what happened. If so, the tattoo did its job. It protected her. Painfully.

She started to undo her belt and found blood on her jeans. There wasn't much, but it was in a very bad place. Jo clasped her hands over her abdomen. Did something happen to the baby? Shouldn't she know? Wouldn't she feel it?

Jo was crying as she stepped under the shower. The water was hot. She stifled a cry of pain and twisted the dial to cold. She just stood there, letting the chill water flow over her shoulders, watching it swirl into the drain.

She didn't know how long she stood there. Eventually it was too cold and, teeth chattering, Jo turned the water off. She tried to wrap a towel around her, but the cloth against her skin hurt too much. She stood, nude, before the mirror. Now that she was clean her skin looked better. It was, she thought, more scalded than burned. Second degree burns at worst. She gazed into the mirror for a long time, examining her body and face. Then she took up some scissors and started to fix what was left of her hair.

That was how Sam found her, crying, nude and shivering on the bathroom floor.

"Jo!" She felt a warm towel wrap around her shoulders then Sam's arms enfolded her. She leaned into his embrace and, with Sam holding her, Jo got her tears under control. God, what must he think of her, falling apart like this.

Sam touched the pile of blonde hair she had cut off. "Oh, Jo. Your beautiful hair."

"That doesn't matter," she said, and it didn't. "It'll grow." She looked up at him, feeling stronger now. "Sam...the baby. I think..."

He looked stricken, almost panicked. "Something's wrong with our baby?"

"I was bleeding," she confessed. "I don't know." Suddenly, more than anything, Jo wanted her mother. Ellen could tell her if it was okay. Jo had never been pregnant before, she didn't know what was supposed to happen, what was normal...or not. Sam wouldn't know, either, but her mom would.

"I'll drive you to the hospital," Sam began to stand up. "Do you want me to call Ellen? Does she know?"

Jo drew the towel tighter around her shoulders. "No, I haven't told her." She was calmer now, thinking clearly. "No hospital, Sam. I...the bleeding's stopped. Whatever happened, it's too late for them to help." She let Sam help her up. "I'll call my OB, get an emergency appointment. How's Dean?"

Sam smiled, and she knew before he spoke that it was good news. "That's what I came to tell you. He's awake. He doesn't seem to remember...you know. Being in Hell."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?"

"I hope so. From the little I know it's normal not to remember...being dead." Sam hesitated, and Jo remembered that he'd died, too, once. Sam added, "I'll take care of him. You'd better make that phone call."

***

#### Christmas Eve 2009

Jo balanced the tray on one hand and reached for the kitchen door, which was partly open.

Through the crack in the door, Dean spotted her and sprang up to help. Jo had been serving drinks since she was eleven and didn't really need help. But she didn't complain. Dean opened the door wide for her and helped himself to a glass.

Jo grinned at him. "Thanks, big brother." To everyone else she called, "Who else wants egg nog?"

Three smiles greeted her. Sam was sitting on the floor with the weapons chest as a backrest. He was wearing a lopsided Santa hat and had an empty beer bottle between his feet. Jo smiled at him first, always.

On the couch, Ellen sat with Bobby. Neither of them was wearing a silly hat, but who cared about that? Just having them here was enough. Ellen was still a little cool about Jo being involved with the Winchesters, hunting with them, but she'd agreed to come for Christmas. That was definitely progress. Bobby, too. As happy as he'd been to see Dean alive, he was even angrier than Sam predicted when he heard how they'd done it. He called Sam all sorts of things, but he was here, which had to mean he'd finally forgiven Sam for risking Armageddon. Or maybe he was just willing to put it aside for the things they had in common. Dean's life was a miracle they could all celebrate.

Jo handed out egg nog to everyone. As she crossed the room to Sam she caught sight of the little Christmas tree Sam and Dean had built together. It was a pathetic plastic tree only a metre high, but they'd decorated it with silver bullets and a foil star at the top. It was so perfectly _them_ it made Jo smile every time she saw it.

The best decoration of all, in Jo's opinion, was the one Dean made just for her. He'd taken the picture from her ultrasound to the copy shop in town and had it blown up and printed on silver card. Then he'd edged the whole thing with tinsel and hung it in the middle of the living room wall.

When Jo asked him why, Dean told her it would save her the awkwardness of trying to slip her big news into the conversation. He was right, but Jo knew that wasn't _his_ reason. She kissed him under the fake mistletoe and let that be her thank-you.

Jo sat down beside Sam, careful not to spill her glass of cola.

It was Bobby who finally asked the question. "So, don't keep us waitin'. When's the baby due?"

Jo glanced at Sam before she answered. "In May. Plenty of time for me to baby-proof the guns and figure out how to change a diaper."

"You look happy," Bobby observed, before adding gruffly, "Is he gonna make an honest woman of ya?"

Jo rolled her eyes, but Sam answered before she had a chance. "I tried. She turned me down." He slipped his arm around Jo's shoulders and ruffled her short-cropped hair, silently letting her know he was still okay with her answer.

Jo hurried to explain, because they hadn't even told Dean about that. "I won't get married just because I'm going to have a baby. And 'honest woman'? Bobby, this is the twenty first century, okay? We might get married some day. Now's not the right time." Jo didn't expect Bobby to understand: he had pretty old-fashioned values.

The truth of it was with Dean back in his life, it seemed like a bad time for Sam to tie himself down. Jo didn't want him to have to choose between them. He had to be free to take off with Dean, if he wanted. Dean still hadn't decided if he was going to go back to hunting, full time. Jo thought he was putting the decision off. It scared him, though he wouldn't admit it. Dean said he didn't remember his time in Hell, but she knew he remembered in his dreams. The nightmares weren't every night now, but he still had a lot of trouble sleeping.

Dean sat on the arm of the couch, though there was room for him to squeeze in beside Ellen if he wanted to. "Did you pick a name yet?" he asked Jo. "'Cause, I think Dean would be a great name. Or Sam if it's a girl, of course." He shot a grin at his brother and Jo was grateful that he'd moved the conversation on.

Sam's arm tightened a little around Jo's shoulders. "We've talked about it a little," he admitted, leaving it up to Jo whether or not to say more.

She did. "If it's a boy," Jo told them, "Sam wants to call him John." She smiled at Sam affectionately. "We might have to fight about that one. I'm not sure the world is ready for another John Winchester."

"I'll drink to that," Ellen said cheerfully, raising her glass.

"I think we all can," Sam agreed.

Bobby nodded. "To John." He raised his glass.

"To John," they echoed together, and they all drank.

Dean finished his egg nog in one, sprang up and hit the play button on the CD player.

As the heavy rock beat filled the room, Sam got to his feet and offered Jo his hand. "Come on. Let's dance."

**~ End ~**


End file.
